Conversations on Love and War
by smexy4smarties
Summary: All's fair in love and war, so how far would you go to secure your victory in either? Is there such a thing as too far? Drabble-esque, short chapters.
1. Stupid Rules

**The one and only disclaimer:** New girls who hate attention, brooding boyfriends, shopaholic best friends, underage hunks without shirts and other characterizations typical of the _Twilight_ series belong to Stephenie Meyer. The rest I made up. It'd be cool if you didn't outright steal, etc, etc.

This is mostly just an exercise to try and rediscover my writing groove. These will be short, sometimes beta'd and sometimes not, and I make no promises that by the end there will be any coherent plot or point.

But there could be. You never know.

* * *

_Love and warre are all one. . . . It is lawfull to use sleights and stratagems to . . . attaine the wished end._ [1620 T. Shelton tr. Cervantes' Don Quixote ii. xxi.]

. . . . .

"You can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because you can only use one card."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"What do you mean 'that doesn't make any sense?' That's how the game is played."

"Yeah, but you said it's called 'War,' right? Well, if I was going into battle against someone much stronger than me, I wouldn't just send one little puny guy to defend my kingdom. So I'm using three cards. If you add them all up, they beat your nine."

Edward's dad owed him big time. He'd promised to entertain this girl while their fathers talked, to be nice to her, but _jeez_. She didn't even understand the rules to _War_, a card game only half a notch above _Go Fish_ on the complexity scale.

"Bella, that's cheating. The rules say we only flip one card each."

"But my rules make more sense in the real world."

"But this is a game."

"Ugh, fine!" Bella snatched two of her cards up and shoved them back into her deck at random. If Edward had dared to tell her she had to put them back on top, he'd have had his head bitten off. He knew that. He kept his mouth shut.

"Ha!" she exclaimed as the pair each flipped their next card. "I win."

"Uh, no, you don't."

"What?"

"I have an ace. You have a ten. I win."

"Aces are only worth one!"

"In some games. In this one, aces are high cards," he explained, summoning all of his patience.

"That's ridiculous. What is the point of changing the value of the cards from game to game?"

"It's just how it is."

"Well, let's change it."

"We're not going to change it. This game's been played this way for like a million years."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Okay, so not a million. But my grandfather said _his_ grandfather played it with him, so it's been around for a really long time."

"Well, in _a million years_, things change. You may have noticed that us humans no longer live in caves or think it's acceptable to carry clubs around."

"You're just upset because you're losing."

"I'm upset because there's no way for me to be _winning_. This game is completely based on luck!"

"Most card games are."

"Well, that's stupid."

"So are you forfeiting?"

"No!" She flipped another card to reveal an ace of her own. "There! According to all of your silly rules, I win this round," she gloated as she swept the cards up and placed them on the bottom of her pile.

Edward didn't have the heart to tell her that, in this version of the game, his two actually did beat her ace. It was a stupid rule anyway.


	2. Cojones

Yeah, one day later, here I am. Make no mistake, this won't last. And let's be clear: I don't work on weekends, I don't post on weekends, I don't _think_ on weekends.

* * *

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Hmm, okay."

"It's a hypothetical question."

"All right."

"More of a scenario, really."

"Edward."

"Okay, so there's this guy, and he likes this girl."

"Are you serious right now?"

"What? What'd I do?"

"Shall we call the guy 'Bob' and the girl 'Betty?'"

"Why am I even trying to talk to you about this?"

"You're right. If the girl's a 'Betty,' then the guy's got to be 'Archie.'" Bella had never told him, but, well, she'd always sort of likened Edward to her favorite comic book character. His hair was more coppery than outright red, but he had that boy-next-door quality about him.

Plus, she could definitely be his Betty.

"_Bella._"

"Yes, Archie?"

"I never said the guy was me."

"Oh, come on now. Really?"

"Really, really."

"Fine. If the guy isn't you, then tell me who this girl he likes is."

"I swore I wouldn't."

"Oh, you know I'm not going to tell anybody. And it'll help me give you better advice to give your friend."

"I can't tell you."

"Why?"

"Fine. Because the guy is me."

"There we go. All right, Archie, continue."

Good God, he hated her sometimes.

"So I like this girl, and I'm not sure how to tell her."

"Use your words."

He had to tell her. "Good _God_, I hate you sometimes."

"Yeah, yeah. So why can't you just tell her?"

"Um, because that's more terrifying than the prospect of telling my parents it was Em and me who tee-pee'd Mr. Callahan's car last year."

"That was _you_?"

"His final exam had two essay questions! It was insane."

"You two are morons."

"Focus, Bella."

"Fine. Do you think you could find the cojones to ask her to Alice's Christmas party?"

"That would be just like telling her!"

"We'll ignore the part about that kind of being _the point_ and just move on to: no, it wouldn't. Alice is making everyone pair up this year, so she might just think you need a date."

"I don't think I could."

Oh, _jeez_, he was taking a really long time to get on with this.

"Edward?"

"Yes?"

"Will you go to Alice's Christmas party with me?"


	3. Pumpkin

Thank you to Nathalie for reading this over and giving me the "Eh, I guess that's good enough to post" nod. Your enthusiasm keeps me going, chicka.

* * *

"Honestly, it's not that big a deal."

"It's a very big deal."

"No, it's not."

"It's a _very big deal_, Edward."

Edward Cullen may have not been very good at math—hence why he'd been attempting to peek at a few of the answers on Bella's homework sheet and now found himself in this precarious situation—but he was still a smart guy. So when his girlfriend actually _stomped her foot_ and folded her arms across her chest, he knew he was in trouble.

And he knew that he'd god damned better not laugh at the fact that she looked about four years old in all her pouting glory.

"Babe . . ."

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"Try to distract me with your sweet talk. I'm actually angry."

Edward could see that she was angry, that she was tapping her foot and flexing her fingers and just vibrating with the fury, but he could also see that she was giving him an out.

And Edward was a smart guy.

"Babe."

"I said _don't_, Edward."

"Sweetheart."

"You're pushing it."

"Honey. Darling. Cupcake."

"_Cupcake?_" Bella couldn't help it: she laughed, even though she really didn't want to. She wanted to yell at this insufferable boy for screwing with her. He made her blood beat and her heart boil and, _oh god_, he was twisting up her insides and her words.

And right now she really wanted to kiss him, which just annoyed her all the more.

"What? You don't like 'cupcake'? How about muffin? Wait. I've got it: _pumpkin._"

"You'd better be kidding me."

"You know how much I've always loved Halloween."

"All I know is that I've got a seventy-one-year-old grandmother and I cringe a little bit when _she_ calls me 'pumpkin.' I don't think there's much hope for the future of our relationship if you start using it."

"Bella Swan." Edward clutched an over-dramatic hand to his chest. "You would break up with me over something so small?"

"Immediately. And that's by no means something 'small.'"

"I'm hurt."

"You're a moron," she retorted, but the words didn't seem to sting as much when she was crawling over to the corner of the couch he was sprawled out on and snuggling into his chest.

"Mmm," Edward hummed, "you fit there perfectly."

"Don't go thinking you're off the hook, buddy."

But with Bella still in his arms, the argument he knew was still coming just didn't seem like that big a deal.

* * *

No joke, I had a boyfriend attempt to call me "pumpkin." I'll never be the same girl I was. 


	4. Hardly Bleeding

This is long for this story. Don't go getting spoiled.

* * *

"I'm waiting for an explanation, Isabella."

"Oh, Charlie, you're being over-the-top about this whole thing."

"Over-the top? Are you kidding? She got into a fight, Renée."

"A scuffle." Renée merely waved Charlie's concerns off.

"The other girl was bleeding!"

"Hardly bleeding."

"How can you _hardly_ bleed? And that's beside the point. I won't tolerate this kind of behavior from my own daughter. I'm the chief of police, for Christ's sake." His fist came down on the table for emphasis, but neither Bella nor her mother flinched. Charlie's gesture was empty, and, well, somewhat funny to Bella. Here he was lecturing her on violence, and he chose to underline his point using just that.

"You think this is a joke, young lady?"

"No, sir."

"Because you're in serious trouble."

"Yes, sir."

"Cut the 'sir' crap. Now I want to know what the hell you were thinking when you decided to take a swing at Jessica Stanley."

"Well—"

"This is ridiculous. If Bella were a boy, there's not a chance we'd be going into so much depth."

"Oh, Jesus. Here we go," Charlie groaned, slumping his head into his hands.

"I'm serious! You'd write it off as just boys being boys. But because she's a girl, you expect her to come up with some deeper, 'legitimate' reason for expressing her aggression."

"That's not true. I'd want to know why my child felt like making a laughing stock of me regardless of if they were my son or daughter. She has to explain herself because she_hit someone_, not because she's a girl."

"So you don't even want to know as a parent but just because you're embarrassed as a cop?"

"Don't twist my words."

"Fine, we'll pretend you didn't just say that." Renée tucked her head into her shoulder and added in a clearly audible murmur, "Even though you did."

"Mature, Renée."

"This discussion is over."

"Like hell it is!" Charlie's fist hit the table again, and while once again neither of the females acknowledged it, Renée didn't seem to even register it.

"Bella, honey, you know that you shouldn't sink to the level of physical violence, don't you?"

"Yeah, I—"

"Because women have enough flaws projected onto them by men. And while I applaud you for venturing into territory normally dominated by our male counterparts, I'd urge you to choose a more positive endeavor next time."

"Oh, _Christ_, Renée."

"Okay."

"You know I have to ground you, right?"

"I kind of figured, yeah."

"Well, your reasons are your own, and you don't have to explain them to anyone, but next time try to express them in a better way, okay?"

"Sure, Mom."

"Now I'd like you to go to your room."

Bella was used to the words that nipped at her heels as she climbed the stairs. She wasn't surprised to hear Charlie say "fucking feminism" after every three words or to make out Renée crying about how she knew he wished she'd given him a son.

This second part intrigued Bella; she'd never felt as if her father was disappointed to have a daughter, and, even now that her mother brought it up regularly, she didn't really see it. Sure, he was a kind of gruff man, and his voice tended to grizzle when he tried to express too much emotion, but Bella was his little girl. And maybe she would never appreciate football, fishing and the other important things in life that began with the letter _f _like a boy would, but she was also pretty positive that his eyes wouldn't light up as much for a son that asked to go on a camping trip with him as they did when she asked.

So she sat on her bedspread and began to count black specks in her grey carpeting, because Bella knew her father and knew he'd be coming up to discuss the matter further. And Charlie knew Bella and knew that once Renée wasn't around to speak for her, she'd be more than willing to explain that she'd went after Jessica Stanley because that witch had kissed Edward . . . _right in front of her_. Bella knew she shouldn't have done it, but she was confident Charlie would at least understand. Break-ups were hard to deal with sometimes.

But for whatever reason, Charlie didn't come to her room before Bella fell asleep.


	5. Hot Pink Laces

I wish I'd been this outrageous in high school. Sigh.

* * *

"Have you seen her?"

"I caught a glimpse in the washroom, but she ducked out on me."

"Oh, I have! Best moment of my life. I actually started laughing in the middle of the hallway."

"You didn't!"

"Do you know me?"

"Who are we talking about?"

The occupants of the cafeteria table took a collective breath and turned to Edward. There was darting of pupils and blinking of eyelids and slight gestures of hand as all of his friends silently argued over who had to tell him what was so funny.

As usual, Emmett lost. Or won. He wasn't quite sure which.

"Dude, have you seen Bella this morning?"

"Iz, Emmett," Rose broke in, all snorts, giggles, and unladylike merriment. "Her name is Iz now."

"Her name is what?"

"Uh, yeah. In English this morning, Bells told Mr. Berty that she wanted to be called 'Iz' and nothing else. Something about the name being as harsh and barren as her soul."

"_What?"_

"Right? But that's only the beginning. Wait 'til you see her. Y'know how she used to wear something blue like everyday?"

Edward frowned. He did know; it had started after he'd complimented a blouse of hers. He should have guessed that the habit would stop once they were no longer together.

"Done. No more. Now, everything's black. Oh, except for her belt. The skulls are silver I think."

". . . Skulls?"

"Actually, Emmett, I'm pretty sure the laces on those commando boots were hot pink."

"Bella . . . and hot pink. _My_ Bella?"

"Uh, no. Michael Newton's Bella."

"Michael Newton's _Iz_."

"Newton's _what?_"

"Did'ya think she decided to become the new emo queen just because? She's dating that gangly goth."

"Bella and . . . Newton?"

"Did you expect her to stay single and heartbroken forever, bro?"

"It's only been two weeks."

"Well, it's high school," Rose reasoned. "She's moving on. So should you." She stole a glance across the table at the petite girl seated to Edward's right. Alice had been attached to his hip as far back as everyone could remember, and yet the two insisted they were nothing more than friends—best friends. Maybe now, with Bella out of the picture, Edward would finally realize what was right in front of him. Rosalie adamantly hoped so.

Alice was only focused on trying to calm her friend down.

"Be reasonable, E. Do you really think Bella would do something like that to you?"

"I didn't, but it seems I was wrong."

She gave him a hard stare, one that was everything he knew his mother could conjure up and maybe just a little bit more, considering Alice wasn't even a parent. He did his best not to cower.

"Well, I _know_ that she would never do something like that to _us_."

Edward understood. Bella knew about Alice's crush on Newton, and dating him, and by proxy betraying Alice, wasn't something she would do.

But commando boots with hot pink laces weren't something Bella would do either.

"I need to talk to her."

Edward was out of his chair and on his way before Emmett thought to warn him.

"Hey, try to keep your cool when you see what she did to her hair, yeah?"


	6. Sugar, Sugar

Thanks to my lovely Daffy for the read-through and suggestions. Even if I used none of them, they made for some lovely outtakes.

* * *

"I don't know why I'm here."

"Because I asked you to be."

"That's not a reason anymore, Edward."

"We can't even be friends?"

She chewed the inside of her cheek, worrying over the answer. There were only two, but she was pretty sure only one of them would get her what she wanted in the end.

It was a clear choice.

"No, I'm sorry, we can't."

"C'mon, Bella, we've always been friends."

"Iz. Call me Iz. And no, we haven't. You hated me when we were in elementary school."

"What?"

"You avoided me."

"You were a pain in the ass."

"See?"

"You were also a girl. I avoided all girls in elementary school."

"Is this why I'm here? So you can tell me why I'm like all girls?"

_Be snappy_, Alice had told her. _Make him work for it_. Bella just wanted to give in and smile at him, just once, just to see if she could make his eyes sing and shimmer. If she still could, would all of this strategy really be necessary?

_Yes, yes, yes!_ screamed back-of-mind Alice.

So Bella didn't smile, and then Edward didn't smile anymore either.

"I need a favor."

"Is that right?"

"I've always come to you to work stuff like this out. Just help me this one last time before we stop being friends?"

This turn in the conversation was not in the plan. It hadn't been in any of the flow-charts Alice had drawn for her.

"Please?"

"All right."

"I've got a hypothetical scenario for you. About a guy and a girl."

"Shall we call them John and Jane?"

"I was thinking maybe we could revisit our old friends Archie and Betty."

"Oh . . ."

"You see, Archie did something stupid—"

"As usual."

"—He broke up with Betty because he was sure by staying together through high school they'd miss out on a whole bunch of experiences. He was convinced he knew what was best for them."

"How nice for him."

"But then he saw Betty with another guy—Reggie—and it just about ate his heart out."

"Uh-huh. Did he take into account what his kissing Veronica did to poor Betty?"

"He didn't kiss Veronica."

"I saw—"

"He had an Ethel-type glom onto him once, but he was told by some buddies that he wouldn't need to talk to the girl about staying away from him, that his Betty made it known whose property he was."

Bella blushed. "Betty's a wildcat when she has to be."

"True. Though Archie kind of got confused when shortly after that she went on a date with Reggie."

"Betty would never date Reggie; he's not her type. They're just friends."

"But everyone at school . . ."

"Rumors." Rumors that Alice and Bella had carefully cultivated with the cooperation of one Michael Newton. They weren't sure why the boy had agreed to be their puppet, but they hadn't questioned his motives, and Alice had found it too fun to create Bella's new look. She insisted that to sell it, Edward had to buy it. Buying it apparently meant a makeover for Bella. She wasn't so sure that Alice hadn't made this part of the plan up for her own amusement.

"So why the change of name? And hair? And _everything_?"

"I don't remember that issue. When did Betty change her name?"

"_Bella_."

"You don't like it?"

"It's just very short . . . and black."

"I felt like a change."

"You look like you dipped your head in ink."

"Is this how you plan to woo me back? With insults?"

"Sorry. How would Archie apologize to Betty?"

"Um . . . stand under her window with his guitar and sing 'Sugar, Sugar?'"

"I can't sing."

"Try."

"Are you kidding?"

"If you love me, you'll try."

"_Sugar . . . Ah, honey, honey_ . . . oh, screw this, no."

"Close enough."


	7. Sunshine and Oranges

Renée intrigues me. Obviously.

* * *

"How's Florida?"

"Oh, sweetie, you would love it here. The entire state's made of sunshine and oranges and cute boys."

"Mom. I have Edward."

"You two have been together what? A month? One of these bronzed gods could sway you."

"We've been back together for a month. We were together before that for like nearly two years. I'd say it's fairly serious."

"You're young."

_So were you and Dad._

She almost said it. It was Bella's standard response whenever one of her parents saw fit to question her and Edward's dedication to one another. _Look in the mirror, you two, and tell me young love can't last._

Now it was clear why the response had never seemed to quite satisfy either of them.

"I'm happy with him, Mom."

"So you'll be staying in Forks?"

"Well . . ."

"No judgements, no disappointment. We told you it was your choice to make, and both your father and I meant it. It's not surprising, honey. Your home is in Forks."

"Well, I've almost decided."

"Oh? Almost?"

"That's actually why I called."

"I'm listening."

"Dad and I get along great. We just get each other, y'know?"

Renée couldn't help but laugh at her daughter's understatement; sometimes it seemed like Bella and Charlie existed on an entirely different brain wavelength than the rest of the world.

"And he loves me . . ."

". . . Is that a question?"

"Not really. I'm sure of it."

Her mother seemed to struggle on the other end of the line for a response, but Bella didn't feel like adding more to her end of the conversation. She didn't know what else to say.

Eventually, as always, Renée broke. "Bella, just tell me. You know how these drawn-out conversations frazzle my nerves. I swear, I can feel my hair getting split ends."

"When you and Dad were fighting—"

"Oh, hun, don't pay any mind to the things your father and I said during those fights. We were just—"

"—angry. I know. But what about when you were talking about me? What about when you said he wanted a son? You said that."

"Yes, I did."

"You cried about it."

"I cried, but I wouldn't say it was about that."

"Then what?"

"I just don't think you'll understand. Even if you could, I'm not sure I could explain properly."

"Try."

"Sometimes a person just needs a reason to be angry, to be hurt and suffering, and that was mine. It actually had nothing to do with your dad's feelings about you."

"You wanted to suffer?"

"Sort of."

Bella thought of Edward and how he'd felt there was something wrong with their relationship, felt they were too perfect. Wasn't that what her mother was saying? He'd gone looking for trouble.

"I think I understand."

Renée smiled, touched by her daughter's attempts to empathize, but though Bella had always been mature for her age, she was so out of her realm here. The rational, basically-adult mind her daughter had sported since birth was a baby when it came to this.

Because a two-week breakup was nothing when it came to heartbreak.

"Maybe you do. And Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"Let me know when that horrible dye's all grown out of your hair. We'll fly you down here so the sun can bleach it."


	8. Are You There, God?

This chapter kind of came out of nowhere, but it's my love child.

* * *

"I can't even remember the last time we talked—_really talked_. It's been so long I honestly feel a little silly, speaking to no one like this.

"Uh, not to imply that You're no one. That's not what I was saying at all. Shi—_shoot_. Um, sorry.

"So anyway. You know the dilemma with Bella? It's not getting any better. I could really use a little bit of help here."

As usual, Edward's ceiling didn't remember what was going on with his girlfriend. So he explained.

"She's not pushing, but I can tell, You know? She wants more from me, and I kind of want to give in . . ."

He looked at the ring. It had felt heavy in a good way when he was thirteen, like an anchor keeping him from being cast out to sea.

Now it was just dragging him down.

"Okay, I really want to give in. And not just give in. I want to initiate and take and . . .

"I didn't realize when I put it on exactly what You were asking of me; it was something small then, an inkling. Now it's this monster taking over every thought, every second, and I can't find the willpower to not want it, let alone _control_ it."

Edward had tried; he couldn't master all of his feelings. He told himself that behaving himself around Bella was a feat in itself, and so he didn't even try anymore to halt the rush of images that flooded his brain when he was in the shower.

Yeah, in the shower.

He had a lot to repent for.

"I want her to be pure, too. She's perfect and she deserves that, and _man_, what her father would do to me if he knew I was even considering fucking up her virtue.

"Um, I mean screw—uh, messing with. Sorry.

"Mom would die, too. I promised her, swore to her, this meant something."

The silver band did mean something to him—it was every bit of honor Edward's parents had raised him with.

"The thing is, if I have to choose what I keep and what I lose, I'll keep Bella."


	9. No Rock'n'Roll

I refuse to make Charlie oblivious.

* * *

"It's a camera."

"Uh, Dad, I hadn't opened it yet."

"Well, now you might as well because you know. It's a camera."

"Thanks, though this looks intense. You shouldn't have spent so much."

"Your mother and I went in together. There's a scrapbook too, so you can, y'know, document your senior year and stuff. And she chose it, so don't blame me that it's pink."

"That's . . . wow. Thank you. So, um, you called Mom?"

"She called me."

"Huh."

"Yeah."

"I should get ready for school."

Charlie let her get as far as the stairs, and then he stopped procrastinating.

"Bells?"

"Yes?"

"Can you come back here for a sec? I need to talk to you."

"What's up?"

"So you're eighteen now."

"As of four-thirty-two this morning, yup."

"You're an adult."

"Yeah . . ?"

"It's just things are going to change. You've been able to make your own decisions for a while now, but now you're legally allowed to. And I know we're not always going to agree, but I want us to be able to talk."

Bella nodded, sure her safest course was just agreeing with her father, even is she didn't have a clue where in the Sam Hill he was going with this.

"I, uh, have some money put aside for your education, obviously, and I was wondering if you'd been preparing your applications?"

"Of course." She rolled her eyes. "Edward ruined one of my calendars months ago by marking it up and down with due dates."

"Good, that's good. So you think you and him'll be going to the same school?"

"Um, probably."

"And living together?"

"Well, I mean, we've talked about it." She was blushing, she knew, but her red cheeks were no competition for Charlie's violet hue, so it wasn't so bad.

"Calm down, Bells. I don't have a problem with that. I wasn't born in the fifties."

"Oh. Good."

"I was wondering if Ed and Elizabeth will be all right with it? From what I know they're pretty . . . devout."

"Yeah, um, Edward's working on them."

No, he wasn't. She knew her boyfriend wasn't.

Because instead he'd asked her to marry him.

"All right, well I'd just like to be kept up-to-date, you know? Where you guys are going, what your plans are, all that stuff."

"Of course."

"I don't want you rushing into anything. I know you're eighteen, but that doesn't exactly mean you're an adult, no matter what the legal system says."

_Tell him. Tell him, Bella._

"Okay."

"And just so we're clear, I may be able to get over the idea of you two living together, but if I catch you doing anything in _my_ house, I will plant drugs on him and then drag his ass down the station and—"

"Okay!"

"And you're eighteen, not twenty-one, so I do not want to see you with one drop of alcohol near your mouth."

"I think I've got it."

"Do you now? Recap for me then."

"No sex, no drugs, no rock'n'roll. Stick to wholesome fun for all ages."

Her father smiled. He couldn't very well say that he didn't want her fun to be _too_ wholesome, but well . . . He just hoped she knew.

"Go get ready, you smartass. Your boyfriend will be here soon. And Bells?"

"Hmm?"

"Happy Birthday."


	10. Important Appendages

Written for Miss Lulu M because she's such a violent little thing (Unlike me, of course).

* * *

"I can't feel my arm."

"What?"

"My arm. You've been lying on it for like twenty minutes. Give it back."

"What do you have against my being comfortable?"

"What do you have against regular blood flow to one of my important appendages?"

"Fine, just fine." Edward shifted slightly and allowed his girlfriend to retrieve her now-asleep limb from under his back. "There. Are you happy now?"

"So very happy."

"Comfy?"

"The most."

"Well, I'm glad for you, because I'm not."

"Poor thing." She stuck out her lip in an exaggerated pout and wasn't surprised when she found herself pinned by her boyfriend, said lip caught between his teeth and his eyes darkened with mischief.

He tugged once before releasing it. "That's not very nice. You should make it up to me."

"Yeah?" She'd had a witty remark; she was sure of it. It was clever and cutting and didn't make her sound like she was completely focused on every shift of his body over hers.

But she totally was.

"Edward?"

"Hmm?" Deliberate shifts now, denim against denim.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Oh. _Oh!_"

"Do you want me to stop?"

Was he _crazy_? "God, no!"

Fabric rustling.

Breathing.

Springs slightly squeaking.

Heavier breathing.

"Wait, Bella, stop. Stop."

"What?"

"We can't. We have to stop."

"I'm not asking you to take your clothes off! Just _finish what you started_."

"I can't."

"Then let me!"

"_Bella._"

". . . All right."

"Are you mad?"

"No."

"You sound mad."

"Well, I'm not. But could you let me up?"

"In a second."

"Now."

"Just a second. We should talk first."

"Get. Off. Edward."

"Bella, would you just . . . Oh, for goodness sake, would you hold still? Stop flailing around before you hurt yours—"

Choked gasp.

Air whistling through clenched teeth.

"Edward?"

"I—"

"Oh, fuck! Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Sorry! I didn't mean for my knee to make contact with _there_, but you really shouldn't have been holding me down, and _ohdeargod_, are you okay? How bad is it? Edward? Will you be all right? Should I phone your dad?"

Just as she'd wanted, Bella's boyfriend rolled off of her, and he hit the floor with a flat thud.

Twenty minutes later, she tried to pretend it wasn't a little bit funny.


	11. No Compromising

Because I'm just dedicating shit left and right, this one's for McGee42. I didn't feel like working on the OS I owe her.

* * *

"Excuse me?"

"Your permission, sir."

"To marry Bella?"

"Yes."

Charlie's gun was much too far away. "Edward, if this is some sort of graduation prank you two have come up with, I swear you won't see your girlfriend for a month. She's grounded. You hear me, Bells? _Grounded_."

"I'm not kidding. I love her and want to spend the rest of my life with her."

Well, damn.

What could he say to that?

_Too damn bad, that's what._

"That's nice, kid, but let's compromise. You can continue to love her, but how 'bout you spend _part_ of your life with her, _then_ marry her, _and then_ comes the rest of your life. Sound good?"

"Charlie, I—"

"Chief Swan." Yeah, he was going to make things difficult. Edward had to know he would; his daughter was only eighteen, and this was ridiculous.

Though, that wasn't to say he hadn't expected it. He knew Edward's parents wouldn't be okay with the kids living in sin and had been trying to work out what they planned to tell them. Apparently, when Bella had said Edward was "working on the problem," she hadn't meant he was talking with Ed and Liz.

His daughter was so dead.

"Does she know that you're here?"

"I asked Bella first, but she seemed concerned about your and her mother's reactions. It seemed like this might put her mind at ease."

So no, she didn't know.

"Bella wants this? Really?"

"I believe so, sir."

"You're both way too damn young."

"Marriages can be successful or fail regardless of age. I like to think that whether or not we'll work is up to Bella and me."

It was a really good answer.

Charlie hated it.

"People change when they go to college. Why not just wait and be sure?"

"I am sure. We're sure. There's no one else for either of us."

He grumbled. "Her mother will never give you her approval."

"Maybe, but your opinion matters more to Bella anyway. Even though I'd really like for both of you to be behind us."

He could hear the resignation edging into his own voice and assumed Edward could too.

"And just how do you plan to support her?" Bella would have killed him had she heard the question, but it was his last-ditch effort. Edward was prideful; he wouldn't accept his father's money, and he wouldn't want to give up his education. Maybe there was an out to be found there.

"I have a plan."


	12. Cold, Smooth Metal

Thanks to Lulu M for being my muse and to solareclipses for not closing the chat window when I needed someone to listen to me run with it.

* * *

"Word _is_ you two are practically broken up."

"Really? I wonder who could be saying that?"

Bella raised an eyebrow at Jessica. _Evil witch Jessica. Snaggle-toothed, frizzy-haired evil witch Jessica_, she thought, but then she felt a bit bad, so she admitted to herself that the other girl's curls were really quite lovely.

For a snaggle-toothed witch.

"I'm just saying, Bella. Everyone knows you're barely speaking."

Bella looked around the streamer-swathed gymnasium pointedly. "Jess? We're graduating. He's _leaving_. Sorry, but your chance with him is long gone." She paused, then figured _what the hell _and said it: "If you even ever had one at all."

Bella'd already gotten into a fight with this girl once. What was one more time before she left Forks and never—oh, please, _never—_returned?

But Jessica didn't get a chance to take the bait. Mr. Greene was calling her name and then a minute later Bella's, and she was walking across the stage, looking out into the sea of faces and locating loved ones—her mother with her hands clasped to her throat as she sniffled, her father beaming up at her even as he fidgeted in his suit, Alice cheering at the top of her lungs with her diploma already in hand.

Edward.

Then it was done, a rolled piece of paper was in her own hand, and she was sitting, watching the last few of her classmates have their tassels switched over, watching them realize that now they could do what they wanted, be who they wanted to be.

Not Bella, though.

"You could have smiled," he murmured, now beside her, though she didn't know how. The teachers were being pretty strict about remaining in alphabetical order. "Your parents are entitled to at least one good picture today."

She didn't respond. He knew why.

"Babe . . ."

She didn't tell him to not call her that.

"Honey, darling, cupcake?"

She didn't smile, didn't call him "pumpkin" in teasing retaliation.

He sighed. "Bella, just how long do you plan to stay mad?"

Forever. Forever and then some.

"Is this really how you want to remember our final weeks? This stony silence?"

_Final_. Yes, that was what this was. This decision of his was final, life-ending, homicidal. And he expected her to accept it and offer her goodbyes? He wanted her to be sweet, to act as if this was inevitable and make the best of it?

Fuck him.

"Bella, talk to me. I love you," he told her, because it was true, because it was something she couldn't ignore, whatever the circumstances.

Bella gripped the edges of the folding chair, traced the cold, smooth metal and catalogued its imperfections. She wondered how the gun would feel in his hands. Would he grip it as she did her seat? Would he clutch the steel with desperation, squeeze with all his might in the hopes that anguish was transferable?

Would he pull the trigger when he realized it wasn't? Was that how he would kill his first enemy? With thoughts of her in the back of his mind?

The idea of it made her sick.

He was Edward. He was gentle and sweet and in the seventh grade needed Bella to decide what color he should paint his room. How could he make a choice like this? How could he leave her powerless?

And she was.

She was, and she couldn't be.

"I love you, too—" she grabbed his hand and squeezed "—but I hate you for doing this."

When Edward arrived in Oklahoma for basic training, he found her ring in his bag. She hadn't had to include a note.


	13. Bronzed Gods

Love to Great Chemistry and GiveUsAKiss413 for answering all my questions about the U.S. Military. I don't know anything about the Canadian Army, let alone you scary Americans and yours.

So solareclipses is on board this trainwreck now. She'll make sure my grammar is pretty. Plot-wise, it's still going to piss a bunch of people off. Won't that be fun? :)

* * *

"You're muttering to yourself again, pretty girl."

"I'm sorry?"

"Muttering. You start talking to yourself whenever she approaches the topic of gender identity."

"Um, do I know you?"

"No." He smiled; it was too much teeth and a whole lot of jaw with bristle-stubble. It was dazzling. "I feel like I know you, though. I sit behind you every class and have learned a lot through your commentary. Lesson one: you hate Professor Keller."

"I do." Bella scowled. "She can wax on for hours about equal rights for women but preaches the need for 'family values' when it comes to the rights of the LGBT community. So fuck her and her fucked up feminism."

"I think, pretty girl"—the boy eyed her up and down, all lascivious-like—"that if you did that, she'd be quick to come around to your way of thinking."

Was she smiling? Yes, she was. She should stop.

"My name is Bella."

"I know."

_"Bel-la_. Not 'pretty girl.'"

"Same thing, really."

"I don't think so, buddy."

"My name is Peter. _Pe-ter_. Not 'buddy.'"

"Right. Well, nice to meet you." She flipped a few pages forward in her book, catching up to the slide projected on the screen at the front.

"Conversation's over then?"

"Most definitely."

"Just as well. It's about that time when you start muttering about how her flawed beliefs have no place in a literary class anyway, and 'just where does she get off shoving her values down our throats. I'd have taken Women's Studies if I wanted to listen to this shit.'" He finished his mockery with exaggerated air quotes, and Bella had half a mind to laugh and another half to get up and leave.

"Just how long have you been stalking—I mean _listening to—_me, buddy?"

"You're not as quiet as you think you are. I'd be willing to wager the twenty people closest to us know your views."

She was smiling again. "Well, lucky them."

"Very lucky them. Would you maybe honor me specifically a bit further and allow me to buy you a coffee after class?"

One line never killed a smile so quickly.

"Sorry, no."

"C'mon, pretty girl. It's just coffee."

"I said no."

"Ten minutes of your time. If that."

"Listen, I have a fiancé."

_Had a fiancé._

_Miss my fiancé._

"As friends then."

Buddy hadn't even skipped a beat to process the fact that Bella was taken, and she wasn't sure how to deal with that, so she went with the tried and true—a weak smile, minimal eye contact, and a quick rebuff.

"I'm sorry, but I said no."

"Fine, fine. You don't like coffee. I'll walk you out then."

"You don't know when to quit, do you?"

"I never quit on my friends." Peter had his dazzle-smile out again. Bella rolled her eyes.

Her new buddy trailed her to her car, though she didn't let him carry her precious books—what if he dropped one?—and they offered parting words through a rolled-down window.

"We should hang out some time."

"Would you get lost already, stalker-boy?"

That night, for the first time in four months, Bella took the phone from her mother's outstretched hand.

"Edward?"


	14. Ringless

So I suppose it's about time I actually write this story. Here we go.

* * *

"So can I come in?"

"No."

"You know, it's very rude to slam the door behind you like that. I could have walked right into it and hurt myself," Peter informed her as he caught and followed Bella through the screen door she'd just attempted to shut in his face.

"I can hope. And not if you had turned around and went home like I told you to. Speaking of which, get out of my house."

"Does your mom have any beer? I'm parched."

"I'm sure you are. Check the fridge."

Bella headed to the living room to find her mother while Peter rummaged through the fridge full of noni juice and kelp cake in search of the cheap liquor hidden in the crisper. Renée liked the idea of foods rich in antioxidants and a healthy lifestyle after so many years in Forks spent eating steak and potatoes, and Bella left her to her delusions. She knew about the pounds of Twizzlers in her mother's bedside table drawer.

"Mom?" she called, as she padded down the hallway. "I'm back, and I brought your new boyfriend with me. He's stealing your beer, and—"

Edward.

Edward in her living room.

Edward on the sofa, duffel bag at his feet.

_Edward_.

"You know I don't keep liquor in the house," Renée replied, oblivious as always.

"Hi," he said.

And that was it.

That was fucking it.

"Do we seriously only have Budweiser? Really? That's sick." Peter rounded the corner into the living room and paused momentarily, taking in the tense trio in front of him, before waving at Edward. "Hey, man."

"Young man, I do _not_ keep beer here. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Uh, hi?"

"Peter, get _the fuck_ out of my house."

Peter looked almost affronted as he focused on Bella. He was never Peter to her. He was her buddy, her stalker-boy.

This Edward changed that.

But because he was her buddy, and not _just_ Peter, he waved them all a good night and got the fuck out of the house.

Edward reached to take his fiancée's—his girlfriend's? His anything anymore?—hand after their spectators had both made their exits, rubbed his thumb over her knuckles and across the ring finger that was ringless.

"How long?" she asked him, figuring on a couple of weeks. Maybe even a month. There had to be some sort of reward for completing his training.

"They gave me until Monday."

His hair was gone. It was so shallow that she should focus on that, but it was such a physical testament to how . . . wrong everything was. His head was sort of like a misshapen egg without the shield that his wavy, red locks used to provide.

She wanted to laugh, but then she might cry.

"And you'll be gone how long this time? Another six months?"

"A year."

Bella did laugh then, hard laughter that brought bitter tears. "Well, that's just fucking great, isn't it?"

Edward squeezed her hand a little tighter.

"Marry me, Bella. Tonight."

He'd intended to be smoother than that, but the words were already gone.

It wasn't really all that surprising when she slapped him.


	15. Staccato Bursts

Oh, solareclipses has been so excited for this chapter.

That should tell you something. Be scared. Be very, very scared.

* * *

"I'm a virgin," Edward told the man, and that was when he realized how truly sloshed he was.

"I'm sorry to hear that," the stranger offered, sitting down on the bed next to Edward in the otherwise empty tent. "But you're attractive enough; I'm sure we can find you a willing woman."

"Oh, I have one back home. She's pretty and perfect and wants to jump me."

"So why are you a virgin then?"

"I just told you," Edward said, furrowing his brow. "She's pretty and perfect."

Really.

What kind of man would chance ruining that?

Was this guy laughing at him? Who was he to laugh at _Edward_?

Actually, just who was he? Why was he here? Edward focused with all his might and found that the effort made his mind even fuzzier, so instead he let thoughts escape in staccato bursts.

He'd ended the phone call with Renée when she'd started to scream and cry about his hold over her baby. The fact that, though Bella didn't wear a wedding ring, she _had_begrudgingly agreed to don his engagement ring again meant little to her mother.

Bella hadn't been there. She was out with Peter, her _buddy_ and Renée's favorite.

All of his calls to Alice, his parents and even Charlie had been fruitless. He couldn't get ahold of anyone who might reassure him that Bella did love him, that they were meant to be.

It was Valentine's Day, and he was stuck in the Afghani desert.

He had wanted to get so very drunk.

As he swallowed back the stomach acid that kept trying to claw its way up his throat, he wondered how close he was to his goal.

"Do I know you?" Edward asked, and the man merely poured him another drink. "Are you friends with Ben?" he pushed on. "Did he tell you I'd share the 'shine? 'Cause I won't. I need it all."

"I don't want any of your booze, son."

Edward didn't believe him. He grabbed the bottle and hid it under the pillow of his bunk.

The stranger laughed again.

"Who are you?"

"So are you ever going to sleep with the girl?"

What girl?

Oh, right.

The only girl.

Fuck, he really was drunk. So drunk that his companion's eyes even looked red for a second.

"Fuck, I just said fuck," he said, and he giggled._ Giggled_.

"Focus, Edward."

"How do you know my name?"

"Never mind that. Are you going to sleep with the girl?"

"If I marry her, of course."

"_If_?"

Edward was distracted. The man was so _still_. How did he do that? Edward resolved to learn.

"Well, she might not marry me. I haven't been very worthy lately."

"I find that all too hard to believe, young man."

Edward shrugged. "It just seems like right now her life might be simper if I wasn't a part of it."

"Well, then." The man smiled, and oh, how his teeth gleamed. "Let's put that theory to the test, shall we?"


	16. Porcelain

So I guess the cat's out of the bag. AH, this is not. :)

* * *

"Pick up the phone," the answering machine demanded, and Bella threw another plate at the wall.

"I know you're there. I already called Renée on her cell to check."

The smooth porcelain of the dinnerware felt good in Bella's grasp, cool and soothing.

_Crash._

It felt even better in pieces on the floor.

"You listen to me, Bella Marie. You can't just lock yourself away. It's been a week."

She was out of plates. She reached for a coffee mug.

"And you _have _to stop destroying your mother's things. She's terrified."

Bella picked up the phone. "Alice, fuck off, will you?" she said, and then she slammed the receiver back down.

The phone started to ring again. Bella unplugged it.

She also put the coffee mug down.

"Sweetie?" Renée rapped on the door in warning before pushing it open with visible apprehension. "Peter's here again. I haven't let him in, but I think you should talk to—oh. Oh, my. . ." her mother trailed off as she took in the pure volume of glass shards carpeting the floor.

Bella looked around, too.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't—

"I wasn't thinking—

"I—"

Then came the tears again.

"Oh, it's okay," Renée assured her, rushing forward to gather her daughter in her arms. Bella stiffened but managed not to pull away, even though the touch branded her, made her feel like she might be sick.

"We'll just order pizza for dinner," Renée was saying, "and then I'll buy new plates. I'm thinking a sort of burnt orange tribal pattern. Maybe kind of Bohemian?"

"Mom?"

"Yes?"

"He's dead."

"Honey, you don't _know _that. Liz said that they're still looking. Maybe he's fine and just can't make contact with the base. Maybe . . ."

Bella stared at the mess she'd created, seemingly for the first time. There were the plates, but also academic awards, figurines that had once graced her bookshelves—an endless array of chipped fragments that once made up her life.

"No, he's not coming back."

"Bella—"

"He killed us. I let him kill us."


	17. Parched Sands

I researched like I was writing a dissertation for these 500 words, but you know I got something wrong. Forgive me.

* * *

"I want to run."

"Are you crazy?" Abdul hissed into the darkness, and he felt like such a rebel for a moment for daring to break the oppressive silence that enshrouded him, his bunk-mate Omaid, and the entirety of the camp each night.

"I think I can make it," Omaid said, "and I went to primary with Asa; he might turn a blind eye even if he does see me."

"Don't be delusional. He'll most likely have your throat slit on the spot. And if he doesn't, it will only be because he wants to make an example of you to the other recruits."

"I think I can make it."

"You think wrong," Abdul impressed, and pulled a beaten sack of a pillow over his head to block out Omaid's mad ramblings.

When he finally rolled over and checked the patch of floor next to him, it was abandoned.

"Fuck." The word was gritty in his once smooth mother-dialect—he'd grown too used to the Pashto spoken by the men of his camp.

Crawling to his feet, he ghosted among the beds and held his breath as he passed the known snitch, Janan, asleep by the tent's entrance. There was no point calling out for his friend—it would only get them both caught all the quicker—so he traced what he hoped to be fresh footprints to the camp's perimeter, with an eye always vigilant for Asa's patrols.

At any other time he would have screamed "American!" without hesitation upon spotting the white man, but he delayed for two reasons now. First, he would have to explain wandering the premises at night to Asa, but more importantly, there was something wrong with this man. The desert rolled on without edge, making it obvious that he was alone for miles. He was not in military garb, had no visible weapon.

But he was deadly.

By the time Abdul processed this, in the split second it took to translate terror into a language foreign to his primal instincts, Edward had him by the throat.

Omaid, loaded up with provisions for a journey across the deserts, might have lived had he taken enough time plundering the camp's stocks to allow the vampire his escape. As it was, his immediate screams weren't enough to halt the flow of his blood onto the parched sands.

He was alive when Asa's patrols found him, but barely.

He didn't make it.


	18. Lace and Leather

PSA: solareclipses is a music guru, and every bit of inspiration I had for this chapter was all her.

* * *

"We miss him," Ed Sr. intoned, the deep boom to his voice itching under Bella's skin while her lace dress rubbed the surface raw, "but I'm without doubt that, wherever he is, Edward knows so, and that he'll find a way back to us."

The room sniffled, choked on a collective sob, but nodded to Ed's sermon. Their boy would come home. This wasn't a funeral; there was no need to cry.

"Now, I'd like to invite a very special young lady to stand up." Her once future father-in-law held a hand out to her, and—success!—Bella didn't throw up as he pulled her to her feet. She even managed to not flip Alice off for looking so damn scared that Ed was turning the floor over to her.

So she was a little drunk. What was the worst that could happen?

"Hello," she told the room bursting with family, blood-related and otherwise, none of them dressed in their Sunday finest. Elizabeth had told her this was just a gathering of close friends, to wear whatever she felt most comfortable in.

She wore black.

She had prepared a speech, she really had, but while she still had those words, they were now second-fiddle to those marching through her head in the face of a room such as this one—a room full of hope. So she spoke from what many would call the "heart." Bella just thought of it as word-vomit.

"I met a boy when I was eleven years old," she began, tracing the rim of her wine glass with a finger, "and he thought I was an idiot. He thought I had a lot to learn about life; he told me so over a game of cards. And I did, and I still haven't learned all of it, and without him it seems like I never will. But that last part means nothing, really."

_Deep breaths, Bella. Squared shoulders._

"So here's what I know. A girl can fall in love with a boy and him with her. They can play a game, and for every time he calls her out on the rules, he'll bend them just once, and he'll think he's doing her this big favor. He'll think he's fixing the odds.

"What he won't realize is the girl's throwing away all her good cards under the table so she doesn't win, just to keep playing."

She'd only wanted a little bit longer—a year, a day.

One minute.

"And so they'll play and they'll play, getting nowhere, until the boy can't take it anymore and fucks up everything, because if he loses, she wins. But it doesn't really work like that."

Alice was crying. Bella wished she could.

"That was the thing with Edward Cullen. When he was brave enough to give it to me straight—when he knew my parents were going to get a divorce, when Alice gave me the worst haircut of my life, when he finally let himself say the word 'marriage'—he always thought he had to hurt himself somewhere along the line for my happiness. He thought there was a _penance_."

She hated the word.

"And I don't know who I should blame for that. I don't know whether it was my fault, or if his religious-nut parents played a role, or if it was just Edward."

Renée had her by the arm now, and Charlie was standing between her and Ed Sr., a barrier. Peter was on the edge of his seat, ready to spring forward at a moment's notice and save her from herself.

But Bella was going to finish. She was going to say these words, dammit.

"I want to know, and I'm so _angry_ that I can't. But again, I don't know who to hate for it, and I figure it's about time I stepped up. Maybe if I could tell it straight myself for once, it wouldn't be so much on him.

"So here's what I know. I'm a girl. He was a boy. And this is game over." Bella held up her wine glass, toasted the room—"I'd suggest you all come to terms with that"—and then downed the contents.

And she didn't need Renée to drag her from that room; she was fleeing, falling to her knees and retching up her insides because there were no words stuck in her throat to keep them down.

"Hey," he said, helping her pull her hair back from her face, and she told him to go away, but when did Peter _ever_ listen?

And there were no thoughts left in her head to hold her back.

It was practically his fault when she grabbed him by the leather of his belt and pulled him forward into such a desperate hug. "Take me home, Peter."

"Charlie's getting the cruiser. I'm sure he'll pull around any minute now."

"No. Take me home with you?"


	19. Ma Bichette

Not only have I not used my French in heaven knows how long, but I was taught a blend of Québécois and Parisian which I'm told is annoying to native speakers of both. So sorry about mistakes in advance.

Not beta'd because I'm a god damn rebel.

* * *

"T'as d'beaux yeux, tu sais." He offered her the compliment even though it was far from necessary. The girl's thoughts had already turned to the contrast of his frosted breath on the surface of her skin and the sparks stirring beneath it; she'd follow him home if he asked.

He didn't know why he hadn't yet.

"Merci bien. D'où viens-tu?" She managed to hold up a decent conversation, but she shouldn't be here, Edward thought. She was too young, too innocent, for a bar like this, where the local Parisians came for _un coup d'un soir _with the tourists and nothing else—and where he came for a meal—but the little girl was determined to be bold, so fine. He wasn't one to judge.

Her thoughts screamed _virgin_, though.

He racked his mind for the French, picking words he might need out of the minds around him. While he was still far from working out the subtleties of mind-reading and holding a conversation simultaneously, he'd been quick to discover just what a well-timed lazy grin could do—better he appeared coy than just plain slow—and he employed such a diversion now.

_Where are you from? _she wanted to know. Oh, if he could tell her, but he wasn't close to fluent enough to say "Wherever won't get me noticed."

"Presque partout," he finally answered, ratcheting up the smile.

She tilted her head at him, a wild deer in his headlights. "Mais t'es un Américain, n'est-ce pas?"

She wasn't the first to conclude such; the Afghani victims he'd taken often did, one going so far as to believe he was some sort of U.S. super soldier.

That was him: Captain America.

"You are American?" She tried again when he didn't answer within a reasonable timeframe, her English thick but obviously practiced.

"Why not," he said, shrugging the question off, but then looked at her hard. "Quel âge as-tu, Sophie? Dix-huit?"

She blushed at the mention of her age. They both had their not-so-secrets.

"J'suis assez vieux," she told him, bold again, and her hand flitted around as if it might eventually alight on his thigh of its own accord.

"Si tu le dis. Veux-tu peut-être une cigarette?" He was done playing now and pulled out a pack of Marlboros, offering her one and tipping his head toward the exit. They should have left the bar at least twenty minutes ago; too many people had noted his presence.

Still, he hesitated. In the past two years he'd never considered leaving a potential kill to find another, and he was oddly proud of himself when the thought occurred to him now. She was a lovely girl, this Sophie, and he'd be sorry to end her life.

He'd do it, though.

"On y va?" she asked when he remained seated a beat too long, and he nodded, got up and took her hand, leading her out onto the cobblestoned streets and into the dark passageway beside the bar.

The alley was dank, deserted, and he had maybe three minutes at most before the soccer game the patrons inside were watching broke for commercial and everyone joined them. He let the bloodlust crackle in his veins, burn in his gums, and pushed his prey against the wall, not even allowing her the promised cigarette.

"Regarde-moi, ma bichette." She obeyed him instantly, her gaze turning to his, and though she couldn't see the wine-red tinge to his irises in the night, he instantly categorized every detail about her own eyes.

Dark, almost black in her desire for him, with cornflower blue speckles close to the pupil.

Down-turned shape, but still rounder than it seemed they ought to be.

Lashes too light for her hair color; she dyed it.

No fear.

_Blink._

Rusted honey, sepia-tinted cocoa, staring up at him from beneath dark lashes—pretty and perfect and _smiling _up at him.

He recoiled, the violent movement allowing Sophie's head to snap back against the brick wall with a _crack_, and when she opened her eyes again, dazed, it was all gone: the light, the trust.

Maybe his mind.

"Run," he whispered. "Fuis!" he snarled.

_Flee, little doe._

And he did.


End file.
